The Mask
Grade school was louder, brighter, harsher.
The classrooms buzzed with chatter, pencils scratching, shoes squeaking against polished floors. Angelyn walked through the halls in her ribboned uniform, her bag imported, her lunch a gourmet box that smelled better than the cafeteria food.
She thought these things would shield her.
They didn't.
It started small. A whisper. A giggle behind hands.
"Look at her nose."
"Her face… it's crooked."
"She's rich but still ugly."
At first, she ignored it. She was used to eyes that looked at her strangely—her father's had been the first. But when it came from children her age, it cut differently.
The whispers grew teeth. The giggles grew into laughter.
"Monster face!"
"Don't look at her, you'll turn ugly too!"
"Cover it up, Angelyn! Please!"
The teachers pretended not to hear. The maids told her to be strong.
She tried. She clenched her fists. She lifted her chin. But her chest always felt tight, her stomach heavy. She would run to the bathroom, lock herself inside, and press her hands over her face until her palms burned.
The mirror became her enemy.
No matter how she tilted her head, no matter how she practiced smiling, the voice of those children drowned her out. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly.
So she begged. She went to her father.
"Please… transfer me."
Her voice cracked. She stared at the floor because she couldn't stand to see his eyes.
He didn't ask why. He didn't touch her shoulder. He didn't even sigh.
He simply called someone, gave an order, and within weeks she was gone from that school.
But the words followed her. They were carved into her.
And on the first day at her new school, as she stood before a new set of faces, she made a choice.
She pulled a mask over her mouth and nose.
"Ugly" would never be seen again.
Her classmates asked why she wore it. She smiled under the fabric and said she liked it. She made it fashion. Soon, it became her trademark, her armor.
But inside, she wore it for only one reason:
To never give them a chance to laugh at her face again.
And yet… beneath the mask, the echo of her father's eyes remained. The whispers of her old classmates burned.
And Angelyn began to wonder—if she hid her face, if she hid her pain—what else could she hide?
End of Piece Two.